You're thinking It's annoying
by Sofia777
Summary: Sherlock watches John as he is doubting his sexuality - again. The detective decides to do something about it, but his plan does not have the expected results... Short one-shot.


Hi all! Just a little story, for the fun of it! Most likely a one shot!

I don't own the characters and I make no profit!

**You're thinking. It's annoying.**

John Watson is thinking. I can tell, obviously. And from the way he rubs his face, and nervously twists his bare feet on the carpet I can tell he is contemplating his sexuality. Again. Which means that within 7 to 9 minutes he will ask me something like 'Sherlock, why doesn't it bother you that people think we are a couple?' or 'Sherlock, do you ever think it is weird, the way we live?'. Bloody annoying. How many times do I have to tell him that I don't care what people think. Or what are other people consider _normal._

But doctor Watson is having doubts. He doubts himself, as ordinary people so often do.

We're sitting in the living room. I am reading. Correction: I am trying to read but John's thinking is so loud I cannot concentrate on my book. The doctor is sitting in the chair across from me. He was skimming the newspaper, but then he read some article about the latest case we solved with another colorful implication regarding our _relationship_ which send John into his bi-weekly identity crisis. And then he started thinking. Worrying. Questioning. Loudly, but without speaking, of course. How many more of these episodes do I have to endure? And people say _I _am difficult to live with!

John is worried he might have _feelings_ for me. Feelings other than friendship. Not because he _feels_ that, but because the unwanted opinions and comments of insignificant people such as Sergeant Donovan make him wonder if he has desires he just didn't realize yet. Because this is not just figuring out if he secretly likes his flat mate; this is figuring out if he secretly likes his _male _fate mate. If he is gay. If he wants to have _sex _with me.

John sighs heavily. Yes, he is thinking exactly that at this moment. From the way he peeks at me I can deduce the workings of his ordinary, simple mind. He is reluctantly admitting to himself that he thinks I am beautiful, and that he prefers to be with me - working and living the way we do - over a relationship with any of the boring, mind numbing girls he met so far.

I don't see any problem with that conclusion. I prefer being with John over any other company too, but I don't have a sexuality crisis! I like the way we live. I don't mind being around him all the time, sharing a job, a flat, a bathroom (twice, literally _shared) _and once even a bed (long story, it didn't appear on his blog, obviously). Why does his silly little brain tells him that must mean he has some repressed homosexual desires?

John wiggles in his chair. He takes a deep breath.

'Sherlock….'

Here it comes. I don't look up from my book.

'Yes john?'

I might as well reassure him. Again.

'Eh… never mind.'

I continue to pretend I'm reading. John didn't ask, but he is still thinking. I can almost hear his brain grinding. Bloody hell, how am I ever going to finish my book if he continues doing this? This is utterly ridiculous. He is a grown man who should know himself by now! He is not gay. We do not secretly _want _each other. All he needs is to get some definitive proof of that theory, and apparently all the nights he spent with women are not conclusive. I might have to take matters into my own hand.

John rubs his face again and breaths into his folded hands.

That is it. I have had enough.

'Oh for God's sake!' I throw my book aside and get up.

'What? Sherlock…' John says as he watches me walk up to him.

I cross the room, put one hand on John's chair and the other on his shoulder. As I lean in he leans back. 'What? What… are you doing?' His face looks shocked.

'This is for your own good.' I say before I press my lips against his.

I can feel him freezing. He is shocked. I move my hand from his shoulder to his face, the tips of my fingers run through his short blonde hair. He washed it today.

I move my lips gently over his, kissing him softly twice before I pull back.

John gets up. We stand in front of each other in silence and for a second I think he might punch me in the face. But then he takes a step back, looks at the carpet, and starts grinning. The grinning turns into laughing and he shakes his head.

He figured it out. He has conclusive proof. Finally.

'Thank you, Sherlock.' He says while smiling. 'Crazy bastard. You were right: I needed this.'

He shakes his head in surprise again. Then he looks at me. 'Tea?'

I nod and John disappears into the kitchen, still slightly grinning at himself.

I take a few steps back and sink into my chair.

I feel numb. No, correction: my face feels numb. My lips. Inside of me it feels like electricity is running through my system. Like my empty stomach is turned upside down and my lungs are suddenly incapable of transporting oxygen into my bloodstream. I feel like I can't breathe.

I suddenly hear myself gasping for air and I quickly pick up my book to avoid John's questioning eyes.

_Bloody hell! _

What just happened? What have you done to me, John Watson?

'John!'

'Yes?'

Thank God he is so unobservant and didn't notice my suddenly high pitched voice.

'Where are my cigarettes?'

He shakes his head without looking up from the tea. 'You quit, remember!'

Bullocks!

'Then get me three - no, four - nicotine patches.'

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